


An Unfortunate Turn of Events

by Etherithical



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beating, Dehumanization, Force-Feeding, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Peter Parker, I must admit I’m still watching through the movies for the first time so I’m not sure, Immobility, It’s not sexual but I understand that it could make someone uncomfortable, Kidnapping, Mutilation - Mentioned, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker-centric, Poisoning, Protective Tony Stark, Rating May Change, Sickness, Terrorism, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Vomiting, Whump, maybe? - Freeform, shock collar, suffocation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25364812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherithical/pseuds/Etherithical
Summary: Andy grabbed Peter’s chin and forced his eyes to meet with amber ones. “What’s your name, son?” The terrorist wondered. The touch, coated in blood was sticky and warm on his jaw, an odd contrast to the chill of the tank. The eyes he stared into were bright orbs in a dark chamber, emanating the creepy intensity of a malicious killer. For a moment Peter was torn between telling the truth or keeping his identity hidden, but he soon realized that saying nothing would only get him into worse trouble, and that his captors could easily find out, anyway, if they wanted to.“Peter,” he choked. Tears sprinkled in the corners of his eyes from the sharp pain and from the vicious, merciless emotion, tears that he could not hide. With every moment the shield he wielded, the shield that was his last hint of hope, grew thinner and thinner. He couldn’t let it shatter, but if he didn’t escape soon, that unpleasant reality could become very real.Andy smiled. “Nice to meet you, Peter.” Teeth glinted in the dim light, a mouth curved upward in an unhinged grin. “I have a feeling that we’re going to have a lot of fun together, you and I.”Peter had never felt more scared in his life.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 104





	1. To Your Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! My name’s Eth and this is my first time writing for the MCU community! In all honesty, I’m both terrified and bubbling with excitement at the same time to be posting for such a big and lively fandom, but I guess it’s all a part of the experience? Either way, please enjoy this fic. Any and all feedback is welcome!
> 
> Timeline: A few months after the events of Homecoming. It’s safe to say that there will be some canon divergence in this one (I actually… haven’t watched Captain Marvel or Far From Home yet because I just recently started watching the Marvel movies. Yeah, I’m late. Slowly but surely, am I right?).
> 
> Warnings: This first chapter won’t have any torture in it, but you can expect that in the next two. There will be some beatings, though, so keep that in mind when choosing to read this. Potential inaccuracy, too? I tried to do some research, but most of the movies I’ve seen only once and might get some things wrong (hopefully not?). Please correct me so that I can learn and fix it next time!

“Okay, so you know what you have to do, right, kid?” 

The clear and imposing image of Tony Stark flickered in the corner of Peter’s gaze. Somehow, the multi-billionaire still managed to radiate with the same intense authority and arrogance from hundreds of miles away, a factor that sent a sense of both admiration and fear in waves down his spine. Tony was well aware of what he wanted to say, and wasn’t afraid to say it.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Peter struggled to keep the tremble born from a rush of adrenaline out of his voice. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to become an Avenger, but the excitement of going on a real mission still burned through him like fire. His palms shook uncontrollably from where he stood, hunched on top of a building, where the entire street was laid out before him like a giant map.

“Why don’t you repeat it for me? It’s bad enough that I have other plans and can’t do this myself. I don’t need your blood on my hands. Got it?” Tony’s voice was stern, but even with his eyes hidden behind his expensive sunglasses, Peter could easily discern the concern he felt. His eyebrows were creased too much, his lips pressed together a bit too firmly, his shoulders just a touch too boxed to be natural. The teenager had observed the older Avenger’s reactions enough for emotions to be recognizable.

“I’m just going to check out the explosion,” Peter said, instinctively turning his gaze to a nearly collapsed building down the block. “I’m not going to investigate much, just see if I can identify who or what caused the blast. I’m not going to pass the caution tape, irritate the investigators, or put myself in danger in any way. That-that’s what you told me.”

Tony gave him a brisk nod of approval. “Good,” he complemented. “One more thing: I’ve heard a rumor that an agent of the Ten Rings was spotted in this vicinity.” Peter tensed. “I don’t doubt it’s nothing; it’s just a rumor, after all, and I had it checked and didn’t find anything. But Peter, I want you to listen to me. If you see anything that even  _ remotely _ hints that they could be around, I want you to get back home and contact Happy as fast as you can. Their organization may be scattered, but they’re still dangerous. You can’t be messing with them.”

“Okay, I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” As much as he hated that his mentor didn’t entirely trust him with perilous missions yet, Peter understood the jeopardy he would be in if a Ten Rings agent truly was around.

_ It’s good that it’s just a rumor,  _ he confided.

“Remember I’m at a meeting, so contact Happy if you need anything, alright? Alright.” A nod. “Well, I’ve gotta go. Say hi to Aunt May for me!” His screen disappeared in a flash, a quick static before it had left Peter’s vision. He drew in a long breath of cold air, switching his weight from foot to foot in preparation, and then leapt from the building.

He was airborne for only a few seconds before his feet met the familiar rooftop. He swung out his arms for balance when he skidded across the smooth stone, although with his enhanced dexterity he could have managed without the extra balance. He didn’t wait to start gaining momentum for his next jump, and had left the ground just as he had arrived. 

It took less than four jumps to reach the fallen building. As there were few people on the street he didn’t draw too much unnecessary attention to himself, which was kind of nice if he had to admit it. The only people in the building’s perimeter that he could see were CSIs and officers, all of which were focused on the side closest to the street. He slipped under the yellow tape completely unnoticed. Maybe Tony had told him to stay outside of the barrier, but he just needed to get  _ a little _ bit closer to observe the wreckage.

“Okay, Karen,” he breathed, taking a cautious step closer to the charred rubble. “What kind of material caused this-” He stopped short. Peter turned to look at a sparkle in the corner of his vision, discrete enough to be ignored by the ordinary man, but not to evade his powerful senses. Tony’s words of warning echoed through his mind, but were quickly pushed aside by his overwhelming curiosity.  _ He said not to go beyond the barrier, which I did, and to not put myself in danger, which I’m doing.  _ He glanced warily at the unstable ceiling, covered in cracks and fallen debris, a clear admonishment to not enter.  _ But I need to know what that is. _

“Yes, Peter?” Karen questioned in her usual monotonous tone. Her voice shook her out of his awe and into the real world, where he could get in serious trouble if he was spotted in the middle of a crime scene, Spider-Man or not. Mr. Stark wouldn’t approve, that was for sure.

“Wait a second,” he whispered, sliding underneath the overhang and into the dark room.

The object grew more and more visible with each step he took. It appeared to be some sort of red shard, lodged into the wall tightly and sparkling with a bright energy. It was without a doubt something his mentor would be fascinated by, a little piece of an odd material interesting enough to study. His fingers clasped around the smoothe edge, tracing the pleasant curves and sharp points. He wondered what it was, perhaps he could take it back and present it to Mr. Stark, and could make the older man smile.

Peter froze. His spider-sense went on high alert, like flashing red lights.

Something was wrong.

The object snapped open, revealing a sharp dart lodged safely inside. He skidded back, but before he could react the weapon had shot out and pierced him right in the chest. He gasped, falling backward. His legs had already become wobbly, his arms motionless, and he hit the hard ground with a loud  _ thud _ . His body was stiff; he couldn’t move.

Peter’s eyes widened.  _ It was a trap! _ He desperately tried to move his limbs, but to no avail. Sweat rolled in beads down his forehead as panic washed over him in a ferocious current.  _ It was a trap, and I walked right into it! Even when Mr. Stark told me not to do that very thing. _ His gut clenched when he recognized the stomp of footsteps from below the building’s floor, faint but noticeable.

_ Just breathe,  _ he told himself when the screech of sliding metal cried out a few feet away from him.  _ It’s going to be okay. Just breathe. Mr. Stark will figure out something’s wrong and be here soon. I’ve just gotta calm down and breathe- _

When he looked up, two figures stood above him, wielding rifles and dark expressions of malice. The one on the left was small, with a black beard and clean, white teeth, while the one on the right was the exact opposite; he was tall, had no beard, and his teeth were crooked and red, as if blood-stained. The one similarity between them was the insignia on their suits: the symbol of the Ten Rings, the sadistic terrorist organization and the worst people he could have found himself immobile in front of. They looked equally unhappy to see him.

“This isn’t Iron Man!” The smaller of the two exclaimed. The man grabbed the front of his suit and ripped off his mask with the other. “This is a child! I thought you were certain that Mr. Stark would be here!” The agent glared at his taller companion, who looked surprisingly unperturbed.

“Maybe he isn’t the one we expected,” the second terrorist growled in a very low, very rumbly voice. “But I recognize his suit. This is an Avenger, and Avenger that Mr. Stark cares for. I’ve seen the two together.” The man’s lips curved into a wide grin. “He may not have Mr. Stark’s technological expertise, but I believe our little spider friend may be of use to us.”

Peter’s eyes managed to open even more. This was a nightmare. When he had wanted to become an Avenger, to help protect the world from harm, he hadn’t considered  _ this _ , the part of the job where everything didn’t work out as planned. He hadn’t considered it at all.

_ Mr. Stark has to come soon,  _ he thought, more as a prayer than actual faith that the billionaire would come to free him.  _ The Ten Rings are psychopathic terrorists. They’ve done horrible, violent things to people, torture, mutilation, massacre, all of it. And if Mr. Stark or one of the other Avengers doesn’t find me, then I’m entering into the very center of it. _

Peter had a very painful, very deep sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to be found quite so soon.

* * *

The two agents loaded him into a tank hidden inside an underground tunnel, a secret from the sunlit world. Inside were two more soldiers and a driver, and from what he could see Peter guessed that there were at least three more tanks under the earth. The air was clotted and smelling of dirt, the tunnel dark and eerie. The masked stares that he was given were nothing short of menacing. When they entered the tank they gagged him with a tough, black cloth, and manacled his arms. The moment he finally regained mobility, he was stuffed in a box.

The moment darkness overtook him, Peter felt the realization about his predicament come crashing down.

In moments he was hyperventilating. His thoughts became faster and more difficult to control, like a tornado that spun with so much speed it tore up everything in its path.  _ I’ve been kidnapped, the tank’s moving, where are they taking me? Oh no, this is bad, oh no.  _ He struggled against his cuffs, although his shaky arms and clumsy fingers mixed with the tight compartment he was stuck in only got him trapped in a worse, less comfortable position than before. His sticky sweat matted his hair, a paste that had his brown strands sticking to his forehead.

_ It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,  _ he repeated in his head like a broken record, but it did nothing to ease the crawling sense of terror up his spine. The rough fabric in his mouth that tied to the back of his head was bristly on his tongue, the smell too noxious, the chest too dark to be that easily forgotten. With every repeat of his mantra, one little thing would remind him that he was kidnapped by a terrorist organization and destined to be the subject of whatever horrors they planned to put him through.

_ What can I do?  _ He would focus on that for now. Without his mask and since he was gagged, contacting someone would be a challenge. He had his strength and agility, but none of that was quite of use right now. As much as he tugged on his restraints they would not come off; they had been made to counter and of Tony’s tricks, fashioned so that even an Avenger would find it difficult to escape.  _ Aunt May must be trying so hard to get to me and is probably scared to death- _

Peter stopped.

His phone.

He rolled to the side so that he could maneuver his hands and remove his phone. Pulling it from his pocket proved to be quite challenging, but he eventually felt the smooth surface brush against his fingers and pulled it out. He turned it on, illuminating his prison with a bright glow, and opened up his texts.

The tank ground to a halt. Peter slammed forward, hitting his head against the box and causing him to let out a grunt. His phone slipped from his fingers just as the chest slid across the floor, thwarting his escape plan.

He groaned. He had hit his head hard, without a doubt a bruise-worthy blow. He bit down on his gag in a wince and shut his eyes tightly. He had lost his best method of getting help in a flash. At least his phone could still be tracked. Hopefully his kidnappers wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

“Go check on the kid,” a gruff voice ordered, recognisable as the taller of the original agents. Peter would refer to him as Andy for lack of a better alternative. The  _ thunk  _ of booted footsteps grew louder and louder at once. His compartment flew open, and above him towered the forms of his smaller captor (who he would call Zack) and another terrorist whose face was completely hidden behind a black mask. He knew his plan had been uncovered when Zack’s face scrunched into a scowl.

Zack whipped the phone from the box and brought it up so that the present agents could see it. “He was trying to contact someone!” The small man exclaimed. The terrorist was much stronger than Peter first assumed, considering he watched his captor shatter the device with his bare hand, another chance at escape lost. The shards scattered across the ground in a cacophony of clinks, like a twisted wind chime.

The other soldier grabbed his throat and yanked him into the air. The powerful grip on his neck was bruising, suffocating. He could hardly draw in the sufficient amount of air, and yet the hold did not relax.

“Did you contact anyone, dog?” Peter blinked, mulling over the name he had been given when Zack tore him from his thoughts. “Answer me! Does anyone know where you are?” The agent holding him ripped the gag from his mouth with such force that his head threw forward sickeningly. He gulped in air, but the hesitation must have been too long, and earned him a backhanded slap across the cheek.

“N-no!” He gasped. His feet kicked desperately, his feet just barely unable to touch the floor. His face began to grow red as he tried to breathe, but struggled. Whether the soldier didn’t know how much pain he was in, or more likely, just didn’t care, he wasn’t sure, but the wiry grasp did not release. “I didn’t-I-I-didn’t-”

He found that he could no longer speak without his breath. His throat was burning, a violent fire inside that spread with each lost inhalation. His lungs constricted, neck pulsated; he wasn’t one to have much experience holding his breath for long. What was mere seconds felt like minutes to him.

Finally, the soldier dropped him. Peter curled up in a fetal position, greedily sucking in large gulps of air. He coughed and bit back a cry of relief, realizing that he was still surrounded by horrible, evil kidnappers and murderers. His little bit of repose was short lived, ended with a metal boot to the chest that sent him skidding backward.

He wheezed, the air knocked out of him. The attack was even more agonizing since his lungs were already strained and fiery. Another foot came flying down to slam into his torso, but this time he was prepared and managed to roll out of the way. His attacker cursed, diving in for another blow. The hit was successful, and Peter was left with a stinging pain in his side.

“Start driving,” Andy ordered a comrade, although the leader’s eyes (Peter assumed he was the leader) remained locked on the prisoner. “Pick him up,” was ordered to another. Peter was pulled up by the arms, two fists locking him in place. His spider-sense was running haywire as he watched the terrorist approach, sleeves pulled down and fists bunched.

“W-what are you doing?” He stammered fearfully. He tried pulling back, but the hands on his arms would not budge.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” Andy explained, stopping less than two feet from where he stood. “Besides, I’ve been needing to vent some rage, and you seem like the perfect candidate.” Before the sentence had finished, a fist slammed into Peter’s gut. He doubled over with a gasp, only to get a punch to the face in response, and then another. His nose, while not broken, began to bleed by the third hit, and his jaw felt strangely weak.

The beating lasted for a full two minutes. Peter quickly learned that Andy punched his head the most frequently, although his torso and limbs took a few hits as well. By the time his captor was done he was cut and bleeding all over. He was too weak to even hold himself up, and was left slumped over in the soldier’s grip.

Andy grabbed his chin and forced his eyes to meet with amber ones. “What’s your name, son?” The terrorist wondered. The touch, coated in blood was sticky and warm on his jaw, an odd contrast to the chill of the tank. The eyes he stared into were bright orbs in a dark chamber, emanating the creepy intensity of a malicious killer. For a moment Peter was torn between telling the truth or keeping his identity hidden, but he soon realized that saying nothing would only get him into worse trouble, and that his captors could easily find out, anyway, if they wanted to.

“Peter,” he choked. Tears sprinkled in the corners of his eyes from the sharp pain and from the vicious, merciless emotion, tears that he could not hide. With every moment the shield he wielded, the shield that was his last hint of hope, grew thinner and thinner. He couldn’t let it shatter, but if he didn’t escape soon, that unpleasant reality could become very real.

Andy smiled. “Nice to meet you, Peter.” Teeth glinted in the dim light, a mouth curved upward in an unhinged grin. “I have a feeling that we’re going to have a lot of fun together, you and I. I can hardly wait!”

Peter had never felt more scared in his life.

* * *

The trip was long and painful. Peter was unsure how much time had passed, but it surely had to be at least 36 hours. He spent most of the time trapped in the tiny box chosen to serve as his cell. It surprised him that it had been intended for Tony; he could hardly fit, so it was hard to imagine a fully grown adult being crammed inside.

A little while after he had been set back in, he had been taken back out to be fed. The terrorists were careless in their feeding, giving him what appeared to be old military food and dirty water. He was hesitant to consume either, but the gun pointed at the back of his skull provided all the motivation he needed. Afterward he felt sick, but it was better than having his brain blown to bits, for sure.

Eventually he was removed from the tank and taken to a private airplane. Peter was almost grateful that his detainers had chosen to tie him to a chair in the cockpit rather than stuff him in a cramped chest again. He was still bound and surrounded by armed kidnappers, but at least he wasn’t uncomfortable.

He couldn’t get to sleep that night. The terror of his situation still weighed down on him like heavy metal chains. Every time he shut his eyes he was reminded of the darkness of the box, which in turn brought forth a panic. He was left spending his night staring blankly at the back of the pilot’s seat, his body frozen in place out of cold fear.

Peter tried and struggled to remain quiet. His guards were unpredictable and violent, and he understood that he had to be careful if he wanted to avoid getting beat up again. Still, the whole day had been an emotional rollercoaster, and tears were hard to hold back. After a minute or two of sniffling one of the terrorists gave him a glare that said something along the lines of  _ shut up before I rip your fingers off one by one.  _ He followed the warning.

By the time the plane had finally landed, he had grown tired. His head was heavy and his eyes felt like they were weighed down by sand. Even so, the moment wheels touched the ground he jolted upright, his back straightening as if struck by lightning. He looked outside to see desert in all directions, and a rocky hill to the right large enough to hold a base inside.

_ Oh no.  _ His breath hitched.  _ They’ve taken me to their- _

Two terrorists worked together to remove his restraints, with one unlocking his shackles and the other ensuring that he didn’t move during the process. Both escorted him out of the vehicle, keeping their hands on his arms firmly. They led him to a particularly large boulder that hid an opening behind it, a secret from any aircraft that flew by. In the entry stood Andy, arms crossed and eyes gleaming.

“Hello, Peter,” the leader addressed with a cruel calmness to his tone. “Welcome to our humble home. We’re glad to have you.”

* * *

“Peter, this is Tony. I need you to answer your phone.”

Nothing. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, but no one answered, like every time he had tried before. The kid wasn’t answering for whatever reason, nor had he showed up in the past day. It was painful to admit, but the news had shook him to the core.

“Look, I need you to respond. That’s an order!”

Tony didn’t expect anything to happen, so he wasn’t surprised when his only reply was a repetitive ring. He cursed, shoving his phone back into his pocket furiously. He should have been more careful; Peter had proved that he was capable, but the kid was still inexperienced and an easy target. Instead, he had risked sending him into potential danger and lost him because of it.

He turned to May, who had been watching, wet-eyed, a few feet away. “I’m going to track his cell,” he breathed. “If he doesn’t have it with him I can’t promise that I won’t return empty handed, but it’ll at least tell us where he was.” The woman nodded slowly, her eyes locked onto the floor.

“I’m going to find your nephew,” he reassured with a fake smile. “Hopefully it’s nothing, and he just made some stupid, teenage decision.” Tony knew he didn’t. Peter could be impulsive, but he wouldn’t just disappear. The older Avenger had chosen not to tell the kid’s aunt that his location hadn’t changed for an entire day for a reason. Something was definitely wrong.

Tony held himself accountable.


	2. To Your Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just take a moment to appreciate the love and support I’ve gotten for this story? When I wrote for Voltron, a much smaller community, never did I imagine having so many people read my stories, and for just the first chapter, at that! It certainly isn’t as much as some of the other writers I’ve seen, but it still means a lot to me. Thank you so much, my friends, I’m glad to have you.
> 
> Warnings: This chapter is dark, my fam. Not only is there torture, but also dehumanization, and force-feeding. All this is minor, and probably not much of a problem if you’ve read the last chapter, but I think it’s important to say it anyway. I don’t want to hurt anyone. This chapter also contains a sickness fairly similar to the fever (with a few differences). With everything going on in the world now, this could easily upset someone. Again, please don’t make yourself read something you will regret.
> 
> OH! And he contemplates life, too, not in a suicidal manner… but he weighs the lives of others over his own and… yeah…
> 
> OKAY BYE!

The room was eerily quiet.

Gray walls were painted black with shadows that swerved when the sun moved, until the rays from the window had completely disappeared. The cell, as sturdy as it was, was cracked in places, allowing little echoes of sound to escape inside. The metal door was the one thing that appeared unbroken, although that was no surprise considering it was likely built of a stable material to keep detainees inside.

To put it simply, Peter was locked in the most stereotypical dungeon imaginable.

He could name several movies off of the top of his head that he had been instantly reminded of when brought inside. The focus on that had been a weak method to pull his mind away from his overwhelming terror, but he tried anyway. Somehow, it made his situation feel just a tiny bit less real, a bit less horrifying than what it really was. He appreciated it for that.

Peter shivered when a cold air passed over him. Even such a tiny movement jerked the chain that held him to the ceiling. The links that wound around his torso were tight and sharp, and tore skin every time he swung from the bolt. With each rattle he would bite back a gasp, with every tug the metal would rub against his tender skin and he would bruise a little more. He wasn’t bleeding heavily, but his restraints were red coated where his skin stung a bit too much. It was a torture in itself.

He dared not move in fear of further injury. Every time the chain swung he would get injured worse, so he had to resist the urge to pull and tug. Even a slight motion of his neck caused the stabbing sensation. He was left as still as a statue, almost desperate for an agent to enter so that he could be relieved for a single moment.

_ Does Mr. Stark know anything’s wrong? _ It had been about an hour since he had been placed in the prison, far too long for his tastes.  _ He has to know. He has to be on his way.  _ The gag was much too tight, the chains were too sharp, and his body was too weak. At this point he wasn’t sure he could even manage an escape on his own, not when he was so weak and bleeding.

He got his answer, and to his misfortune, it was far from good news.

The door unlocked and Andy stepped inside, holding a sleek, black cell phone up to his ear. The speaker was on, so Peter could easily hear the voice on the other side, although he was already certain of who it would be. Why else would the terrorist have a conversation in front of his prisoner?

_ “Hello? Who is this?”  _ The voice of Tony Stark demanded with a growl. His tone was strained in the manner that hinted at worry, mixed with vexation. Peter was aware that the billionaire rarely answered to unknown numbers himself, unless he was truly desperate. The young hero had a feeling that he knew why.

“Mr. Stark,” Andy addressed. The terrorist’s hand ran up to touch Peter’s jaw, earning an instinctive jerk from the teenager. “You sound frantic, my friend. Is something wrong? It’s odd to see a powerful man like you in such a fearful state.” The man chuckled.

_ “I asked you who is this?”  _ Tony’s voice grew more firm, his  _ interrogation tone _ , as Peter liked to call it. He admired the older man’s strength, although he feared the Ten Rings’ intentions even more.  _ “I don’t like it when my questions go unanswered, buddy, and frankly, I don’t have the time for your games. I have a problem to deal with.” _

“Peter?” He could almost see his mentor go rigid. Andy chuckled. “We know who the kid is, Mr. Stark. Quite young to be off fighting homicidal maniacs and the like, don’t you think? What a surprise when we found him in our trap instead of you. But the Ten Rings were not disappointed.”

The terrorist elbowed Peter in his wounded chest, forcing a muffled cry of pain out of him.  _ “Peter!”  _ Tony called, as if it would help the poor boy. He dropped his head with a shudder, grinding his teeth together forcefully. 

_ “What do you want?”  _ Was the quiet yet furious response. The man behind the screen was fuming; he could easily imagine the crazed eyes and quivering lips, an image he had seen many times prior. But this time the image he saw was more intense, like the calm before a storm.

Andy laughed. “I appreciate you asking.” The sadistic madman clapped hands together in excitement, devouring the horror load by load. “The first thing we would like you to do is provide us with access codes to military defenses and weapons. With your technological skills, you should be able to acquire anything. The longer we have to wait, the more time your loyal dog has to spend in our clutches. And if you recall, Mr. Stark, we don’t play nice with our toys.” Peter palled at the last line, the blood sucked out of him and his eyes blank.

_ “Don’t you dare-” _

“Meet our demands, and maybe your precious  _ Spider-Man _ won’t be completely broken by the time we have what we want.” Andy smiled. “But if we hear of any foul play, then the boy you knew will be long gone.” The call was ended before a response could be heard. Peter was left staring, wide-eyed at the phone. He wasn’t sure he could breath.

_ They want to use me against Mr. Stark!  _ He felt sick.  _ This can’t be happening!  _ The nightmare was growing more and more horrific with each passing second.  _ It’s my fault. Why couldn’t I have listened? I let my arrogance get the best of me, and now the Avengers are going to pay for it. _

_ What have I done? _

He was reminded of his company when he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hello?” Andy called in a sing-song voice. “You seem to have blanked out on me, Peter. Have you forgotten who’s in charge here? I certainly don’t appreciate being forgotten, I must say.” The terrorist put on a false pouting face, eyes wide and lips quivering.

A finger tapped the wound on his chest carelessly, coating the nail in red blood. He yelped, the touch sending a sting pulsing through his body like fire. The sadist smirked, continuing to prod at his injury and laughing when he squirmed. An enormous fist suddenly flew toward his torso and smashed into the chain. Metal dug deep into his skin and caused him to yell.

“I’m so glad we found you instead of Mr. Stark, Peter!” Andy exclaimed after the boy had doubled over, gasping for air. “Unlike him, you can make me laugh!” The man pulled out a switch and flicked it upward, the red glow illuminating the large thumb. Peter cried out when the chain that held onto him suddenly released and he dropped to the floor. The rough floor dug into his legs, although the scratches it gave him were nothing compared to what head experienced previously.

“In fact, I’m so glad that we found you that I got you a present!” Peter was not excited by Andy’s  _ gift _ . If his kidnapper was giving him a present, then it was likely far from a kind gesture. His fears were proven correct when Andy pulled out a thick metal ring from the satchel at his side, fit with two rectangular shining lights, one red and one blue, and a much smaller circular one that flashed every few seconds. He recognized what it was the moment the madman snapped it open.

_ A collar. _

Peter jerked back.  _ I can’t let him put that on me!  _ He thought with a shudder. The quick movement strained his torn skin, but he was much too focused on escape to worry about it. To put the collar around his neck was a humiliation, a free pass to let his captors strip his humanity away in a blink.  _ Someone has to come soon. Someone come soon. Someone  _ please  _ come soon! _

Andy’s eyes lit up hungrily, like a cat preparing to pounce on a mouse. “It’s a token of our newfound friendship!” The monster explained, approaching the horrified prisoner one step at a time. “The lights match your suit so perfectly; how could I  _ not _ get it for you?”

The terrorist lunged. Without the use of his hands to maneuver, Peter’s only chance was to get back onto his feet. He drew up against the wall and used it to push himself upward just as Andy’s hands grasped thin air. He slammed his flank against his attacker, sending the man skidding across the floor. Not wanting to miss his only chance, he leaped for the open exit, but unfortunately, his enemy was prepared and managed to knock him to the side before he could escape.

Andy grappled him to the ground. “My, my, Peter,” the agent said with an air of false disappointment, a mask to hide away the excitement Peter could easily discern. “How long will it take for you to learn that you’re here to stay? We’ve ensured that there’s no way for your high and mighty teammates to find you. Trust me, you’re stuck here. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll be able to cope with what’s coming for you.” The collar snapped around his neck, and through it his last strands of freedom were stripped away.

Peter felt a crack form in his shield of hope deep within.

He was left with little to no time to mourn before an agony tore through him like lightning. He stifled a scream as his head slammed back and smashed against the floor. Through his agony he could just barely spot the red sparks flying from his collar, and Andy holding a finger to a remote controller steadily.

“Painful, don’t you think?” Strong, wiry fingers grabbed his throat, all while the electric energy from the collar did not shut off. Andy lifted his head up, only to slam it back down. The impact sent him seeing blurry doubles, a twisted image of the rotten toothed maniac staring down at him malignantly. His captor did the action a second time, before the shock collar finally shut off and he was released.

Andy leaned down so that a warm breath touched Peter’s ears. “I told Mr. Stark that I would break you,” the man whispered, so quietly that he had to truly focus to hear it. “I don’t intend to let him down. Even if it means snapping every single one of your bones in half like a twig, I will do it.” The terrorist got to his feet.

A foot slammed down on Peter’s chest and knocked the air out of him in a flash. Andy smiled. “And I will  _ enjoy _ doing it.”

* * *

When Andy had left without another word, Peter had hoped that the terrorist intended to be gone for at least two hours. His heart sank when the man returned just ten minutes later, carrying a plate of food and wearing a different satchel around his shoulder. The moment the door opened he was shocked with electric pain, a step more intense then it was previously, but lasting a shorter period of time. 

Andy set the plate down carefully. “Time for supper, Peter!” The gag was removed from his mouth, taking with it the noxious scent of rot that had plagued him for hours. He sucked in a long breath of air, letting the cool feeling rush down his lungs and blanket him in comfort. He allowed himself to smile just a bit in relief, his face blanking when he remembered that his captor was still present, watching with an intense interest. 

“I don’t believe we’ve properly spoken,” the lunatic said, unlocking his manacled wrists while holding him in place. “Or rather, I’ve spoken, you haven’t. I don’t hear that much about Spider-Man. All the focus is on Iron Man and Captain America, and everyone forgets about guys like you.” The terrorist ruffled his hair in the way that Tony did, a comparison that made him want to vomit. “Why don’t you tell me about  _ Spider-Man _ , son? I would love to get to know you before there’s none of you left.”

Peter gulped. Every inch of him did not want to reveal to Andy anything about who he was, but the man’s finger was already inching toward the remote, threatening to zap him if he didn’t speak. “I was bitten by a spider,” he mumbled, casting a nervous glance at his observer.

“Oh?” The hand fell from the remote. “That’s cool. Can you tell me where the spider is? I would die to have powers like yours, my friend.” The man scooted closer, grabbing his nape before he could move away.

“It’s dead,” he breathed, avoiding Andy’s intense gaze.

Andy sighed. “Aw, that’s disappointing. Well, when Mr. Stark gives me what I want, which he will do without a doubt when your life’s on the line, I’ll have access to so many wonderful treats that your powers will cower in the light of.” Peter watched the man’s eyes light up as if witnessing pure joy. “Well, you should probably eat some food. I bet you're starving.”

Peter took one look down at the food and almost gagged. The plate was covered in nothing apart from disgusting, greenish slime mixed with bright red berries. The ooze hardly looked edible, and the berries were similar in appearance to the poisonous ones he had researched in science class. He wasn’t sure whether Andy wanted to poison him or just wanted to make him as uncomfortable as possible, but either way the man’s intentions clearly weren’t kind hearted.

“Nope.” Peter tried to draw back, but Andy’s fist held firmly to the back of his neck. “I’m not hungry, sir, not at all.” It was a lie. Peter was quite hungry, but he did not want to eat the meal that his captor had prepared for him. Not if it meant risking death by poison, or possibly even worse, being poisoned and  _ not _ dying. The fate that Andy had set out for him was one in the  _ worse than death _ category, especially since Mr. Stark had to make a choice that could affect millions. Peter did not want to die so young, but it was better than risking the lives of entire continents, and, on a much smaller note, being tortured by Andy until he died or his captor lost interest.

_ I shouldn’t have to think about this _ , he thought with a shudder.  _ I shouldn’t have to weigh my own life and the lives of others. Heck, I shouldn’t be in this situation at all!  _ He looked up at Andy, his eyebrows creased in worry.  _ But I’m here. I just have to pray that either Mr. Stark finds a way to fix this, or I’ll escape myself. I’m Spider-Man. I can survive. I always have. _

“Really?” Andy watched him incredulously, faking a look of shock. “You  _ must _ be hungry. A growing kid like you, especially one with your powers, has to eat to stay alive.” Peter gulped as Andy removed a gun from his side and pressed it to his chest. “Besides,” the man hissed, “ _ I _ want you to eat. And if you can’t do it yourself, then I’m happy to help you.”

Peter stiffened. Andy’s threat terrified him to the core, a sense of fear that was hard to shake away. However, he knew full well that Andy could not kill him if he wanted his plan to work. It was just a ploy to force him to eat the meal, to show him who was in charge. To dehumanize him. 

_ I’m done letting him kick me around _ , Peter decided, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

He glared at his captor. “No.”

Andy clenched his jaw, feebly trying to hide his irritation. “This doesn’t have to be difficult, Peter.” When Peter’s expression did not change, the man’s face grew harder. “If you’re obedient, the pit you’ll find yourself in will be a lot smaller than if you fight everything I do. Eat.”

Peter raised his head in indignation. “No.”

Andy screamed, slapping his head to the side with a loud  _ crack. _ “Listen to me, dog!” Peter grimaced, his cheek red with pain. He barely had time to recover before his captor slammed the butt of his gun against his jaw, forcefully enough the cut skin and draw blood. “You do what I command or I’ll beat you to the ground! And if that doesn't work, I’ll find everyone you love and make sure they pay!”

At the last line Peter grabbed the plate and brought it closer to him. Andy surely wouldn’t hurt Tony, but the thought of Andy going after Aunt May or Ned was what sent shivers down his spine. He could get a little beat up if it meant keeping them safe.

“Much better,” Andy said as Peter reluctantly ate the repulsive food. “See, that wasn’t so hard! We can do difficult things, right Peter?” Peter nodded slowly, his face pale from the sick taste of his meal. Something was already bubbling deep within his stomach, a queasy sensation that made him wish he had never eaten the slime at all. He gulped in an attempt to chase the feeling away; the last thing he wanted to do was vomit his food up in front of Andy.

“I’ll see you in a bit, Peter,” the terrorist said, climbing to his feet. “Whether I come to hurt your or not depends on how long Mr. Stark takes.” The man smiled.

“I do hope the meal satisfies you until then.”  


* * *

Peter’s throat burned.

He vomited the hot pain out of his mouth, coating his tongue in a bitter taste. His whole body was awash in sweltering heat, forming little beads of sweat on his forehead that rolled down in droplets. His red-rimmed eyes stung and he forced them shut, a pathetic attempt to relieve himself of the pain. It was miserable, the kind of pain he would take Andy’s beatings over without a second thought.

_ Well, now I know that the meal  _ was _ poisonous _ , he thought.

The feeling welled up in the back of his throat and he threw up once again. Just the force of the heaving made his body weak. His arms and legs were just barely able to keep him upright. His skin was pale like bleach, or a phantom, as Ned would have added.

Peter groggily curled into a fetal position, letting out a low and quiet whimper. It had only been about two hours since he had been fed the meal, and he already felt like his body was going to crumple to ash. His throat was sore from all of the vomiting, his stomach rumbled as if begging for more to eat, despite him knowing it would surely sicken him more.

_ I need water.  _ He trembled as a cold feeling touched his skin.  _ I need water, I need water, I need water- _

He rolled to the side in search for a comfortable position, but the rough floor failed to feel any better against his flank. In fact, the movement only worsened his pain, and he bit back a shaky breath.

“It’s okay, Spider-Man,” he gasped hoarsely, dragging his body closer to the wall. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s-” His throat pulsated as if to hurl again, but this time all he let out was a wet cough. He licked his dry lips after another shiver, blood from the cuts tasting of iron.

Peter pushed himself up against the wall with a shudder. The fact that the window kept him inside through the use of bars rather than glass meant that the cool night air entered the cell, and the room was freezing. Such a factor was not helpful in the slightest for his sickness. It was such a stark contrast to his burning insides that it became an agony.

“P-p-please come, Mr. Stark,” he whispered shakily, hope that had become more of a desperate plea than anything else. His fingers clasped around his restrained palms with frailty. There was a numbness to them, the kind that implied that they would snap off under the slightest of pressure. “Please c-come-”

Unable to hold himself up anymore even with the support of the wall, Peter collapsed to the ground. Even breathing seemed to strain his lungs, in response his breaths becoming quick and shallow. He ground his teeth together in a sob. It hurt so much; he just wanted Tony to find him and for it to be  _ over _ .

The metallic thump of footsteps from down the corridor signified that his torment was only going to worsen. A repeated chant of  _ no _ echoed through his head like a drum beat, growing louder as the visitor approached. His mind became a panicked chorus of fear and despair. A visit from Andy was the last thing he needed right now.

The keys clicked and the door swung open. In the frame stood the broad, familiar silhouette of the terrorist, dark eyes almost glowing in the shadowy chamber. In the man’s hand was an object, featuring two rods that sparked with energy when the button was pressed.

Peter tensed.

_ A taser. _

Andy flipped the object in his hand casually. The action already sent warning signs vibrating through Peter; the man looked too content to be spreading any good news. He was certain of what he would be told, and that terrified him.

His fears were realized.

“Mr. Stark hasn’t come yet, Peter,” Andy gloated. The terrorist finally stopped his careless play with the taser and held it firmly in his fist. “Do you know what that means?”

The weapon clicked on, and Peter felt his remaining hope shatter to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left, folks! Until then, feel free to comment your thoughts (including constructive criticism!). And come and find me on Tumblr to, uh, chat or something!
> 
> Have a good day!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking your time to read this. Again, any and all feedback is welcome, including constructive criticism (how else am I going to improve?)! 
> 
> If you want to request something, or just stop in to say hi, check out my Tumblr! I love meeting new people and getting requests, I don’t bite!
> 
> Kudos make me smile and comments keep me writing! Don’t be shy! This author appreciates comments and loves to know that people enjoyed her work!


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